Time to pay the piper
by TartanPhoenix
Summary: Redemption is not forgiveness. Redemption isn't given; it has to be earned, voluntarily or not. Helena found this out the hard way, and it's up to Myka to show her the difference. Set after the Season 2 finale. AU from the point Helena was taken from the Warehouse.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I have no proprietary interest in the universe from which I borrow these guys. If I did, Instinct would not have happened.

AN: So, this is written to stand alone, but I've been bouncing the idea of a chapter-fic around. Let me know what you guys think. Also, the idea came after reading this fic, so click the link and give it a look. I enjoyed it. There is no infringement intended, but I found the idea an interesting one. I am not overly fond of the Regents, myself. .

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Irene pulled along her charge, a weak thing barely more than the rags she wore. She was fairly delirious. She smelled, and she flinched like a wounded animal at the slightest provocation. It had taken almost half an hour just to get her out of the cell. There were times, thankfully few, where Irene wondered at the Regents. They were guardians, meant to protect, but, like all man, some took their title too literally, began to think themselves kings. The fools. They forgot their duty, their humanity. They forgot mercy. And Irene was none too afraid that they may be forced to remember that particular lesson after this latest lapse, even if it was only because they'd have to beg for it. Even the kindest soul can break under the necessary strain. And Irene was currently dragging along what may be that strain. God help them.

"Not much further," she murmured, pulling the frail thing along beside her. Faint mutterings filled the air, nonsense things that had come and gone with consciousness. After six months, Irene wasn't sure help was possible, but if it would happen anywhere, it was here. She had made it sufficiently clear that the Regents were not welcome. She protected the Warehouse; that included its agents. Her companion stumbled, not surprising, and she gripped the cargo tighter, heaving her higher against her shoulder. "Not much further."

The three steps leading to the front door posed the greatest challenge thus far, coordinating proving difficult. Weakened legs could only lift so far, and Irene was far too old to be hauling anything. That time passed somewhere around the Wilson Administration. And while it was infinitely entertaining to 'pop' around, spooking her agents, tandem was something she'd never perfected. Five minutes later, they made it over the last step and to the door, both panting heavily, the body in her arms shaking violently. The sweat and some blood plastered the shirt to her back, the slight breeze likely chilling her slight form. For just a moment Irene cuddled her closer and couldn't help remember a time when her own daughter had come running, scared of the dark. She used the one word that still managed to soothe, to quiet the woman, the one thing that could still offer some semblance of hope. "Myka." There was a shaky breath, a frantic clasping of her lapel, but the shivering subsided, the weight against her side lessened, ever so slightly.

The doorknob was cold and smooth in her hand. It twisted easily enough, the door swinging open with a creak, announcing her presence. She nudged the head that fell on her shoulder and pulled them forward. Irene was fairly certain she would have to burn her coat once she got home. The smell was truly horrible. They stumbled forward, coming to rest heavily against the bannister, her bundle wheezing, muttering again. "My—, My—, My—," over and over. They needed to get upstairs.

There was a gasp to their left, and Irene lifted a hand, stalling any forward motion from the intruder. Pete stood, frozen, in the archway from the kitchen, a cookie in hand, and crumbs littering the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide, disbelieving, as he stared at them, darting back and forth between the women. Irene simply pointed to the living room, her intention perfectly clear as she projected the same calm she did in every situation. Sometimes, sometimes it was rather tiresome.

She watched Pete hesitate, taking a step forward before her charge made a low keening noise, trying to stumble away. "Mr. Lattimer." He stopped dead, the cookie breaking apart when it hit the hardwood. He took a step back, and another before turning away and stepping into the living room to wait, warning off the others from leaving. The keening stopped, and Irene pulled them toward the stairs. This was a time for brute force, and by the time they reached the stop, both were panting, and the body, slight as it was, rested solely on her, shaking as a sore pressed too firmly against bone. "Just a bit further," said almost more for her own benefit than that of her companion.

After an interminable ten feet, the journey was complete. Three brisk raps against aged oak and there was a shuffling sound within. The floor creaked and then so did the door was it swung open. "Pete, I told you —" Dull green eyes opened wide and a jaw rather inelegantly dropped. "Mrs. Frederick, what — How?" Myka's eyes fastened onto the bundle in her arms, her nose twisting up at the smell of rot and filth before realizing just what she was looking at. The book in her hand dropped to the floor, landing on her toe without any notice and the door swung wide. "My God! Helena." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and tears making it thick.

The head hanging downward, thin stringy hair limp and plastered to cheeks, tilted up slightly at the voice, mouth moving without sound as black, frantic eyes fixed on Myka. Nostrils flared and Helena simply tipped forward. There was no reaching, no recognition beyond instinct of how to move or why, only that she had to. She had to be over there. She landed in Myka's outstretched arms, face buried in curls and sweet skin, crying out in pain, fear, and sheer desperation, unable to actually comprehend just how her situation had changed. The force of the impact dragged them both down, Myka trying to cradle the woman as gently as possible while still clasping her securely. She could feel every bone, every sinew. There were no tears, just a never-ending shudder from them both.

Myka looked up from the floor, taking in the stain along the full side on Mrs. Fredrick's clothes, black, sticky, a band wrapping around her chest to her jacket's lapels, a hand shaped imprint. She had never seen the woman look so human. There was a glimmer of sorrow, empathy, turning the rims of her eyes pink behind the no nonsense frames. "What happened?!" Myka's voice was more frantic than she intended, and louder. Much louder.

The body in her arms flinched, burrowing further into her and Myka softened, rocking back off her heels, bringing the body with her into her lap. Helena settled against her, and it was as if she wasn't there at all, her body frighteningly light and cold. The shaking was the only true sign of her existence, and Myka was desperate enough to be glad for it.

"Ms. Wells has been released from Regent custody. It was decided she would be brought here and will remain under your care until such time that she is reinstated to full-time agent status. You will be responsible for her." Irene paused, looking at the tears slip past Myka's nose, dripping onto the tipped head below her, a hand gently carding through what remained of raven locks. "I thought you would both prefer it."

Myka nodded, chin bumping against Helena gently. But when she looked up, there was no softness. Irene stared into the abyss and barely restrained a shiver. God help them, indeed. "Now isn't the time, Agent Bering. I will return in a few days, and we can talk more then. Right now, she needs you. The Regents —have agreed to keep their distance until such time that Ms. Wells agrees to see them. I will have Agent Nielson keep you from the field until you say otherwise. Consider yourself on indefinite paid leave. You will not be bothered here—either of you. I promise you that."

"You cannot really expect me to just—"

"I expect you to care for her. Now is not the time for anger or revenge Agent Bering." Irene cut her off, too tired to argue, voice sharp as a whip. "There will be ample time for recrimination later. She needs you at the moment, not your vengeance. You."

Irene looked down at the shivering mess curled around Myka, knees tucked along her ribs, fingers wrapped tight in her shirt, knuckles white. The trip had opened one or two wounds along her flank and a fresh streak of blood was making its way down what used to be a white shirt. It turned into something wholly different ages ago. They'd wasted enough time. Helena had taken up her muttering again. "My-ka." She nuzzled her warm cocoon, mouth hanging open and breathing in Myka's smell.

"You need to get her into the bath. It has been quite some time, as I am sure you can tell. Be careful, though. She's developed a bit of hydrophobia. She's too weak to pose any real threat, but I am sure you'd like to prevent any aggravation to her injuries. Try to prepare yourself, Agent Bering. There are several of them, and you'll need to take care in bandaging them. I will call for Dr. Calder when I leave, but she is currently in Nepal, so it may be a day or two before she arrives. She will need to start with broth; I will have Leena put some on the stove to warm."

Myka nodded absently, already making lists and plans. Helena would stay in her room, warm and safe under her watch. She had almost given up hope, and she was slightly manic for the rush of it returning. "Why did you—" But when she looked up, they were alone, the bedroom door closed and latched from the inside. "Bring her here?" She finished to the empty air. It didn't much matter. She knew. They all knew.

The room was quiet but for her name, disjointed and quiet, slipping from between Helena's cracked lips. Myka had to swallow back a sob and took a shuddering breath, cuddling Helena closer.

"Helena." The muttering stopped. After Mrs. Frederick's warning, Myka was apprehensive, but it had to be done, so they'd start with reason.

"I need you to listen to me, okay? We need to take care of you now. We need to get you cleaned up, so you and I are going to get you into a bath."

At the word bath, Helena came alive, trying to push away, eyes frantic, wild. Her mouth moved, no sound came out, and she almost fell off Myka's lap in the struggle. She was so weak, however, that Myka easily brought her back, held her fast, tucking the flailing arms into her chest. She began to rock them both, arms wrapped firmly around her frighteningly small shoulders, tucking Helena's face into her shoulder like a child. "Shhhhh, it's all right. It's going to be all right. I won't hurt you. We'll get you nice and clean and into bed. It's all right. You're safe. You'll always be safe with me." She murmured nonsense words of comfort, rocking them the whole time. Helena's shaking subsided, but she kept shaking her head. Myka wasn't at all convinced Helena was anywhere near lucid, but she couldn't just manhandle her into the tub and there seemed to be some spark of recognition. She felt the way Helena's fingers stroked at the skin of her throat, peaking through the collar of her shirt. She had an idea; now she just had to hope it would work.

"Would you like me to take the bath with you? We can sit just like this." Myka waited. There was no new struggle at the word bath, but the fingers at her throat stopped moving. She felt Helena inhale deeply and was slightly concerned at the creak her heard. "My-ka." And the fingers started moving again.

That seemed as close to an agreement as she was going to get. "That's right, Helena. It's Myka. I'm here. I have you." She reached out and tucked a string of hair behind her ear before starting to shift Helena off her lap so she could stand.

Helena made a whining noise in the back of her throat, fingers curling tighter around the cloth of her collar. "It's okay, Helena. Here, just hold onto me." With that, Myka stopped moving, and, uncurling the fingers from her shirt, wrapped the arms around her neck instead.

"You just hold on, Helena. I'm not going anywhere." She managed to get Helena off her lap, and, with arms still firmly around her neck, grasping onto the edge of her trousers, pulled Helena up with her gently. It took a moment to settle, Helena swaying before settling all her weight on Myka, but they we standing up. First step complete. Step two, moving.

Myka took a step, tugging Helena by the belt loops toward the bathroom and step-by-step they made it the dozen steps to her en suite, bumping into every piece of furniture along the way. They stumbled into the bathroom, Myka flicking on the light before settling Helena on the toilet seat gently. They were still connected by Helena's firm grip around her neck. This meant they ended up eye-to-eye, foreheads resting together when Helena finally settled.

Myka stopped breathing all together. There was almost nothing of the woman she knew in those eyes. Almost. She couldn't look away as they stared back, black and pained. Her breath was rancid, but Myka couldn't care less as she leaned in gently, bracing herself on the wall. The kiss was soft, simple, chaste, but oh so wonderful. It was over almost as soon as it began, but it was enough and the arms fell from around her neck and Helena practically flopped back against the tank. "Love."

"So much, Helena. Love you so much." With one hand grasping Helena's tightly, Myka reached into the tub with the other, setting the stopper. She turned on the water slowly, trying to find that balance between speed and noise, not wanting to frighten Helena anymore than necessary, but she could feel the nails dig into her hand. She fiddled with the knobs, trying to keep the water as tepid as possible. No need to aggravate her injuries further.

Myka turned back to the woman holding on to her for dear life. Picking up her other hand, Myka placed both on her shoulders, curling them in her shirt and smiling slightly. When the fingers took hold, Myka just took a moment to stroke the back of those hands, tracing the fine bones, rubbing gently. The touch was barely there but soothing for them both, a connection badly needed. She just felt so small, so delicate, Myka could feel the need, the overriding urge, to care for this woman well up inside her. With a final stroke, she trailed her hands up those arms, jumping to hips and down legs, starting with her shoes. The laces had been removed, so it was just a matter of puling them off and tossing them to the side. Socks followed, making a sticky sound when they hit the tile. The smell was bad, and getting worse, but Myka refused to let it show on her face. She just kept looking up from where she knelt in front of her woman and smiled a small smile. The water pounded as fingers undid the button and fly, pulling it down before moving onto the shirt. There were only three buttons left, one coming off completely in her hand. It stuck to parts of Helena's body as Myka pulled, and she had to move her fingers over those areas, pulling it free as gently as possible, but there were still moans and whimpers. Water puddled in Myka's eyes, but she refused to let it fall. She could cry later.

The shirt gave way and Helena was bare from the waist up. Her skin was a grey color, patched with black, blue, and blood. Myka swallowed back the bile and looked up and smiled softly, touching the spot over Helena's heart gently. Helena seemed to curl in around that hand, the fingers at Myka's shoulders kneading the muscle underneath.

She reached over and shut off the water, testing it once more for the temperature. She left a few drops on her fingers, and, holding her gaze, brought them to Helena, painting the back of her hand, marking a trail through the grime. "Okay?" She got no response, but there was no attempt to escape either.

Myka pulled the hands from her shoulders, resting them just under the hem of her t-shirt, still cold, and she could feel goose bumps race up her spine. Of course, it could just be from Helena. She always had that effect on the other woman. The t-shirt came off, curls bouncing everywhere as the material cleared her ears and next went her bra and the button to her trousers. They slid off easily enough as she got them both upright, pulling Helena into her own body for support as she pushed the jeans she wore down and got the woman out of them.

Helena was a walking skeleton. Myka counted the ribs, could see the contours of her pelvis. It was amazing she could stand at all. She maneuvered herself into the water first, never taking her eyes from Helena's and tugged slightly. Helena resisted for a moment, but her need to wrap around Myka seemed to win out over the fear and Myka quickly found herself with an armful of shaking woman.

"Let's sit down, honey. Let's get you clean and you can curl up in my lap all you like." She kept her voice soothing, letting her lips feather across Helena's scalp as she spoke, fingers ghosting over her spine. When she began to lower herself down, Helena followed and bundled herself against Myka, her ear planted firmly above her heart.

The water was already grey, bordering on black after just a few strokes with the washcloth, but Myka kept going. She let the water rain down Helena's back, uncovering mark after mark, red and angry, and a far too prominent spine. Three rounds of water later and a tear filled hair washing that left nail marks on Myka's wrists, Helena's skin was pink and smelled of lavender. Myka just snuggled her close and leaned back against the edge, taking a moment before getting them up to begin cleaning out the various cuts and scrapes. As bad as it was, it could have been so much worse. They were mostly marks of neglect, but every bruise, every cut tore at her. Helena would heal, at least physically, and that was somewhere to start. Helena was strong. "Love you, Helena."

Helena just tucked her head more securely against her chest, a finger tapping out Myka's heartbeat, her lips brushing the skin there.

It was two hours later. Helena was dry, bandaged, dressed and fed, soup waiting outside her door when they were ready. The moment Myka put Helena in her bed, Helena's face squished in her pillow as she lay on her stomach since her back was worst off, Myka felt the exhaustion settle over her. All those months of not knowing, wondering, no longer being able to be angry and just missing Helena more than a heart should bear, she was tired. Myka threw an old t-shirt on, crawled in beside Helena and just watched her. A single eye opened on the other pillow, staring back over the folds, hair everywhere, soft and sweet smelling. "Myka."

The eye closed and her body seemed to collapse into the sheets, heavy. Only then did Myka scoot closer, resting her forehead against Helena's shoulder, feet tangled together. "Helena."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hey, everybody. So, I have decided, as you see, to continue the story. I just wanted to say thanks for all the interest and for taking the time to not only read but respond; it was far more than I expected, and I love hearing your thoughts. Feedback is always the best way to improve. We'll see how it goes, and back to the story.

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She half hoped for nightmares, odd as that may be. That was the logical response, wasn't it? Bad things happen, there are nightmares. The mind works through the trauma while we sleep, at least a little. Nightmares would make sense. When did anything with this woman make sense? Myka supposed there would be plenty of time for nightmares later. She should be glad for the stillness while it lasts.

They slept for nineteen hours and change. Nineteen hours. Well, she slept for nineteen hours; it looked like Helena was pushing for at least twenty. And she snored. The morning was slipping by quickly, and Helena needed to eat something. The last thing Myka really wanted to do, however, was move. Helena was wrapped around her, grasping her like a teddy bear, head tucked into Myka's neck, thighs wrapped possessively around one of her own. And she was warm, and smelled sweet. The smell wasn't quite right, but Myka would find the spicier body wash Helena had always preferred later. That would help. Myka tightened her grip slightly; her arms seemed to have wrapped themselves around her waist, one hand slipping up into Helena's hair, tucking the face closer, the other firmly planted on her butt. Holding her was almost painful; the only real indication Helena was alive at all was the slight puff of air tickling her skin. The breaths were so shallow, as thin as she was, you couldn't feel Helena's chest move.

The light was soft this time of the morning, filtering in through the half closed drapes, falling over the covers. Everything seemed slightly golden, the bedspread, the dust motes floating through the air, Helena's skin.

Her back was a patchwork of bruises, sterile pads, bone. But she practically glowed after the bath, the skin stretched thin, flushing easily and brightly. It was both wondrous and horrifying all at once. Her thumb rubbed small circles just below Helena's ear, her lips ghosting over her hairline. She would make Helena safe. She was loved; she would be safe. She was hers.

She pulled air in through her nose and burrowed into the bedding. She would enjoy this one morning. No one knew just how bad it would get, so she would enjoy this one morning. Planting her lips firmly on Helena's crown, she settled in and closed her eyes, letting herself drift for just a little longer. Breakfast could wait another half hour.

It was closer to eleven when her eyes opened up again and found herself staring directly into a pair of brown ones. The way the light hit, little flecks of gold and green shone, setting them alight in a way Myka'd never seen before. The eyes stared back, refusing to blink. There was recognition there, a calmness lacking the day before. "Hello." She whispered and watching dark lashes flutter. She pressed her lips to Helena's forehead before pulling back again.

Fingers slipped up Myka's neck, scraping slightly as a jagged-edged nail caught. Along her jaw, past the curl that refused to stay tucked away. A single finger found its way to her lips, touching the lower one softly, back and forth it slipped. Myka kissed it gently, never breaking eye contact and Helena's seemed to widen just slightly, but the finger didn't stop. It slipped upward, tickling just under Myka's nose, tracing the few freckles of her cheek, tugging at her eyebrows. "Myka."

The voice was hoarse, choppy, but clear in a way it wasn't the day before. It was intentional. It was wonderful. Myka turned her head and rubbed her nose against the wrist. "Your Myka." She wanted no confusion on this point, no doubt as they moved forward. Myka was hers, wholly. Unabashedly. Just as Helena was hers. Later, much later, they could talk about Yellowstone and Myka could voice her disappointment, anger, but later was not now. Forgiveness had long since been given and there would be no doubt. Helena was loved, and damned it if she wasn't going to know it at the outset.

"Mine." Just a touch clearer. Her eyes sparked.

Myka just smiled and listened to the sounds coming from downstairs. She could hear faint voices through the door, shuffling around in the kitchen. The real world still existed, and it was about to intrude. Step one: Lunch.

"Helena, it's lunch time. We need to eat. I'm going to run downstairs and grab something. You just stay here and keep the bed cozy, okay? You seemed to do well with the broth last night, so I want to go slow with a protein shake for lunch, something with a little more to it. We're going to try several meals through the day. Your body needs the calories. I'll be back before you even miss me."

When Myka went to shift away, Helena simply redoubled her grip and a low keening sounded in the back of her throat. The slight shaking started up again, and Myka could feel her panting against her neck, short and fast. Every time Helena shifted, pulling herself tighter against Myka she grunted, the pull aggravating the marks on her back, the rib Myka was convinced was at least cracked. She was going to pull herself apart again without a second thought.

"Easy." Myka leaned into her, wrapping her arm back around the twitching shoulders, trapping thighs with her own. She rocked them slowly, softly in the little nest they'd made of the sheets overnight, shushing the woman, stroking her flank. "Don't go."

Myka's eyes slammed shut, and she struggled to swallow down the lump at Helena's plea. There was something molten creeping through her system, burning her from the gut outward. She just needed to breath. She'd only felt pain like this once before, and even losing Sam couldn't quite compare. Only once, when Myka refused to look up from her boots as the cars drove away, had she ever felt this pain.

When she was sure she wouldn't choke, Myka just nuzzled her hair. "I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving you, I promise. But, we need to eat." She reached back with one hand, her fingers fidgeting for her wristwatch, scraping across the leather when she found purchase and bringing it between them. The constant tick, while normally rather annoying, was oddly soothing and Myka clung to the sound. She untangled Helena's hand from her sleeve and gave her the watch to hold.

"I'll only be gone fifteen minutes. No more than fifteen minutes. Then I'll be back, and we can eat and snuggle up right here for the afternoon. You can tell me a story." She stroked a lock of hair, pushing it behind her ear, letting her fingers travel through the strands. She loved Helena's hair. "I love your stories." Her voice was light, coaxing, a familiar teasing infused around the edges.

She watched as dark eyes scrunched shut, a little furrow appearing on her forehead and her breaths became deeper. She pulled the watch tight to her chest, the tick muffled by her grip. The eyes snapped open and latched onto hers. They were afraid, tired, anxious. There was a flicker, though, of more. There was the barest hint of stubbornness.

They darted around the room, landing briefly on the window, seeing a finch fly by, before landing back on Myka. Her mouth opened, closed. She exhaled in what would almost be a huff under any other set of circumstances. "I—"

She cut off, mouth working, struggling. With every phrase, it became clearer to Myka that Helena was in there, intact, if that was the right way to think of it. They hadn't broken her, not completely. That she was managing this much after only a night was impressive, a testament to the mind, the woman. Myka honestly hadn't expected more for quite awhile. Her heart swelled while Helena fought for her voice. "No longer." She shook her fist weakly for emphasis, the leather watchstraps flapping, slapping Myka in the chest.

"No, no longer." Myka pecked her on the tip of her nose. Very deliberately, Myka pulled the hand still wrapped around her t-shirt away and pulled it to her pillow instead, moving it between them as she slid back. Helena understood the intent, grabbing hold with both arms, burying her face in it for a moment, seeming to sag into the cushion. Myka had never been so glad to have forgotten to change her pillowcase in her life and could practically hear Helena snuffing away. She had a flash of a pig digging for truffles and her lips quirked.

The watch reappeared, resting on top, ready. An eye peaked out as the bed shifted, Myka standing, shaking off the head rush, and grabbing her bathrobe from the chair. Helena watched the whole process, breathing deeply, nose buried in the pillow. But there were no shakes. Her eyes followed Myka's hands as they reached for her glasses and put them on, too tired to deal with contacts. The last thing either of them needed was her putting her own eye out. She belted the robe and began to walk away from the bed, watching Helena the whole time, fingers sliding over covered toes as she passed. The foot twitched away, but she didn't seem afraid. Apparently, Helena was ticklish.

Her hand on the knob, her heart pounding, she noted the time. "Ready?"

A pause, long enough that Myka almost fled back to the bed. Gripping the watch tight, Helena nodded, a jerky motion to be sure, but she got it out. "Set."

The knob turned, hinges creaking. And Myka was away. "Go."

* * *

"Tell me, again, exactly what Mrs. Fredrick told you." Artie huffed, making his eyebrows twitch. The splotchy red of his cheeks gave away just how _displeasing_ he found the current situation. Well, the red splotches and his body weight in cookies he'd been baking for the last twelve hours. Even Pete was having trouble keeping up. He had been at the Warehouse when Helena and Mrs. Fredrick arrived. It was a less than pleasant experience to come back for dinner only to find Pete standing at the base of the stairs, waiting for him. Neither he, Claudia, nor Steve thought it necessary to call him while Mrs. Fredrick gave them the basic information. Hence the cookies. And the yelling.

Pete just sighed, his shoulders almost under his ears before falling with a drama all their own. "Artie," he whined just a little, but the glare he got in return cut it off. "Fine. She said we're not supposed to bother them until Myka says it's okay. H.G. isn't a big baddie anymore. The Regents know she's here, and we're 'to show her every kindness.'" He brought his fingers up to snap off a set of air quotes before reaching for another cookie and shoving it in his mouth. "She said she'd be back with your Dr. Vanessa, probably tomorrow, and give us the rundown then. We're pretty much just supposed to chill until then." He grabbed another cookie. He so needed a meeting.

He was still trying to shake the image of H.G. from the day before, but every time he closed his eyes, he could see her, hanging like a ragdoll of Mrs. F smelling like some overworked troubadour. As if that weren't bad enough, the outline of it on Mrs. F when she finally came back downstairs was enough to put him off his dinner. She hadn't stayed to wait for Artie to get back from the Warehouse, just left him a pull notice for Myka, told them to play nice, and made it clear H.G. was supposed to be treated like one of them. She exited stage left. He slept with his gun under the pillow.

He spent twenty minutes just standing outside Myka's door after he woke up, listening to the whimpers and little sighs coming from inside. He had almost broken down the door when he heard the first one, thinking H.G. had played them again and Myka was in trouble, but he knew what Myka's whimpers sounded like. Those weren't it. He was almost ashamed of how glad he was they weren't. Almost, but not quite.

Pete tuned back into the conversation just in time to see Claudia break out her laptop and boot it up. She pulled it back sharply as Artie shook his half-filled coffee mug at her, emphasizing whatever point he'd made. "I want you to figure out what that woman is doing here. They trusted her once and look what happened. That—that harpy isn't getting her claws in my Warehouse again! When I find out what sh—"

"You're not going to do anything, Artie." Myka cut him off, practically sliding around the corner and into the kitchen. Her socks made traction a pipedream and she shuffled to catch her balance. Her curls flopped around her face, blinding her for a second while she gripped the countertop and whipped around to face Artie. "You're not going to do anything. Mrs. Frederick left Helena with me, promised she was safe here. Helena is going to stay, get better. She's coming back to the Warehouse, and you're going to stop poking, stop prodding, and definitely stop threatening. Put the laptop away, Claudia." Myka turned away and started digging in the fridge, bringing out the milk before reaching for Pete's protein powder and breaking out the blender. "Pete, what's the time?"

"11:13. Why?"

"Eleven minutes." She muttered to herself while she read the back of the package, dumping everything in and hitting blend.

"Look. It's bad. Okay? Bad. I don't know what happened, I don't know what they did, but it's bad. She needs help, and I love her, so I'm going to help. We can deal with what—with everything else later, but for now, we help."

Myka just shook her head, giggling the blender a little, trying to speed it up. "I know you're worried, Artie, I get it. God knows if anyone understands, it's me. But you're going to have to trust me." She stopped for a second, a flash of disappointment clouding her features before clearing almost as quickly as it came.

"If that's not good enough, then trust Mrs. Frederick. Right now, I'm a little too amped up to care. But you're not hurting Helena." She shut off the blender and reached for two glasses. "Pete, time?"

"11:19."

"Gotta go! We'll talk, really talk, later. Promise." And she was gone.

There was silence in her wake as each person just watched her all but run for the stairs, trying not to spill shake all over the floor. "Keep digging, Claudia."

"Artie! Not cool. You heard Mykes. She'll kill me! And then Mrs. F.'ll fire me! And I am too adorable to be unemployed." Claudia bundled up her laptop and started making her way into the living room.

"I get that's it's a novel concept, but will you just do what I tell you without arguing for _once_? This isn't right, and we don't have time for our usual rounds of 'argue with Artie.' Find out why she's here and let me know. I'm heading back to the Warehouse. Pete, you stay here. We'll be on shifts. If that woman leaves the room, I don't care, shoot her."

Pete threw his hands up, shaking his head and taking a decided step backward. "Nuh-uh, noooo! Nothin' doin'. Look, Artie, man, I don't like her here anymore than you do. Lady Cookoo up there is not my favorite person right now, but, man, you didn't see her. She's not moving. Plus, both Mrs. F. and Myka say she's okay. And they are both way scarier than you. Myka hits. Like, hard. Make me cry and lose my man-card hard."

Artie looked over, incredulous. "Yes, and she's the one that brought that cobra into Warehouse in the first place. So now we have to be the —"

"Dude, I swear, if you say you're a mongoose, I'm gonna tell Vanessa all about the time I caught you moonwalking down the NASA aisle. I got tape, old man."

"You wouldn't?"

"Tape." Pete snorted.

Artie huffed. "Fine. Just get me that information. I want something before she's mobile." He stomped out of the B&B, the door rattling on its hinges. And then there was quiet.

"Moonwalking?"

"Yup."

"Any good?"

"Papa Bear got skills."

"Lemme see?"

"Later. We'll put it on loop and grab a pizza. It's soooo much better with musical accompaniment."

"Nice."

* * *

Myka managed not to slosh as she stopped outside her door. Tucking one glass into her elbow, she turned the knob and walked in. She was met with a pair of dark eyes staring over the rim of her watch, naked shoulders, and the most wane, but welcome little grin she'd ever seen. A pink tongue darted out to lick at chapped lips. "Three minutes left."

Myka laughed.

The next twenty-four hours was made up of coaxing Helena to sip at her protein shakes, naps, and bathroom trips that dragged the energy out of both of them. Anytime Myka was out of her sight, Helena gripped the watch, watching the door, face buried in the pillow. There had even been a sponge bath, a towel laid across the bed and a warm, damp, washcloth stroking against cool skin. Helena had practically been purring by the end, to the point where she barely stirred when Myka removed her bandages and re-cleaned the wounds before bandaging them once more. At least her issues with water seemed to be limited to large tubs of it. Myka decided the next time they needed to wash her hair, they'd try a shower.

Helena was sleeping, head on her pillow and the fingers of one hand wrapped firmly in Myka's curls when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Myka looked down as Helena stirred, the sheet draped low over her hips slipped further, the barest hint of cleft peeking out. Tugging it back up and lifting it carefully to rest just under her shoulders, she untangled herself from Helena and went to the door. The faintest hint of a whine sounded and she rubbed a heel in passing. Helena sighed and quieted down. "Come back to bed."

Myka ran her hand through her hair, hoping to look at least reasonably human, but gave it up as a lost cause after the third knot. There was only one person that would be knocking anyway, and she wasn't there to see Myka. Standing on the other side was Dr. Vanessa. Warehouse doctor, mean gin player, and tamer of all things Artie. Myka opened the door and received a soft smile. "Good morning, Myka. I hear you've got a stowaway in here. Mind if I come in?"

Myka quirked a grin and stepped aside, letting the other woman enter. She popped her head out the door, looking down the hallway. "Don't worry. Irene is downstairs with the gang, Grumpy Gus included. I think she's planning on finding you before she leaves."

Myka nodded and made her way back to the bed, propping herself up against the headboard while Vanessa stood at the foot. Helena wrapped her hand around Myka's thigh, eyes trained on Vanessa. She pulled her feet up and away from the end of the bed, curling them under Myka as well. The actions were not lost on either woman. "It's all right, Helena." Vanessa soothed, her voice soft. "Myka can stay right where she is. We just need to give you a once over. I know it probably hurts, but I'll be gentle and get out of your hair." Vanessa stepped around and stood behind Helena, gently pulling the sheet down and folding it at her lower back to start. Helena flinched as she reached for the first gauze, pulling away the tape holding it in place. She was about to look to Myka, but she was already slipping to her side, dropping nose to nose with the other woman. Vanessa could feel Helena's entire frame relax under her hands.

She pulled the bandage away, taking in the sore underneath. It was clean, deeper than she'd like, but there were no signs of infection. Myka had done very well. One by one the bandages came off, only small flinches and shakes for her effort. Vanessa could see Myka's lips moving, but her voice was too soft to hear. But there was a sparkle in her eye and Helena was still. She took in the full span of Helena's back. With the right combination of cream and a little extra Warehouse-approved help, there should be little to no scaring.

Vanessa reached down and pulled out a pair of goggles, dark round lenses held by leather straps. Effective, but after so many years, they smelled like wet dog. "What're those?" Myka nodded toward the goggles, catching Helena's attention as well. She leaned away and further into Myka. Vanessa rested them on her forehead.

"Wilhelm Conrad Roetgen's work goggles. He accidently discovered x-rays and was the first to use them similarly to as we do today. My favorite was always the one of his wife's hand with their wedding band. I love useful accidents. It allows me to see the skeletal structure without having to actually carry around a machine. I will glow a little bit afterward, for a while, but don't worry. I won't actually be radioactive. They figured out how to fix that in the sixties. Now just hold still for me, and we'll make sure there's nothing out of whack."

Snapping the goggles into place and starting at the top, Vanessa made a scan down. There were a couple of cracked ribs, faint but there, and not surprising based on the information provided by Irene. When she hit Helena's feet, she stopped. And stared. Taking a deep breath and working to unlock her jaw, Vanessa looked up. "Helena. On a scale of one to ten, how badly do your feet hurt?"

Myka looked confused, eyes darting between Vanessa, Helena's feet, and her face, trying to figure out what was going on. Helena was silent, her eyes shut tight.

"Helena, please. I need you to tell me. I'm going to give you something for the pain, but I need to know how much. How badly do they hurt?"

"Helena, sweetheart?"

"Seven, seven and a half."

"Kosan is a bastard." Vanessa's voice was sharp, harsh.

Helena just nodded, pushing her feet slightly closer to Vanessa.

"Would someone tell me what is going on? What's wrong with Helena's feet?"

Vanessa reached into her bag, grabbing a roll of tape and a pair of scissors as well as a bottle of pills. "I can only guess how they happened, Myka, but Helena's feet are covered in stress fractures. With the number of cracks I see, both of her feet are basically broken." She popped two pills and handed them to Myka along with a bottle of water. "Take those, Helena. They'll help and then I'm going to wrap your feet. You're going to feel better in a few minutes. Not a lot to be done for the ribs; you're just going to have to be gentle with them for a few weeks."

She watched Myka coax Helena into taking the medication, small sips of water chasing them down. "We go nice and slow and you tell me if the pain gets worse. When I'm done, we're going to sit and talk about your diet for the next few weeks. We need to get your bodyweight up." She reached slowly for the first foot, keeping the palm open along the sole, not surprised when the foot flinched back at her touch. She waited, watched as Myka petted and soothed the damaged woman. The level of dependence would be an issue later, for both of them, but one that could be confronted then, when Helena wasn't a breathing skeleton, when she could survive on her own. This wasn't the time. The foot slid back toward her, painfully slowly, but of her own volition. It seemed to hesitate just before making contact and coming to rest, but rest it did.

Spreading out her fingers and gently flexing the foot, she began to set in position, using as little pressure as possible. "All right, kids. Here we go."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: So, it's FRIDAY! Here we go yet again, and while I was working on this, I had a little thought. Big thoughts scare me. And, I ended up making a little tweak to the story, an addition if you will. Thanks again, everybody, for the responses. They have made my day, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Also, please do note after this chapter, we're going to start earning the rating.

* * *

It had taken all of six hours before Mrs. Fredrick found out about Claudia's fishing expedition. There was a flash of amusement when she watched the young woman flit around the files, trying to cover her tracks as she went. She was certainly talented. There was a flash of amusement, but she had told them no. They did not listen. She would need to remind them of why that was not okay.

It was not good. It was not pleasant at all. "Given that I know I do not stutter, and you are, by reputation at least, not a fool, would you care to explain, Arthur, why you decided to disobey me and have Ms. Donovan dig through the files on Agent Wells?" She hadn't raised her voice, but Mrs. Frederick managed to get far closer to a new Ice Age than Helena could have ever hoped for.

"Well, she can't be—she's dangerous—and I thought it best—"

"You thought it best?" She tilted her head.

"Yes."

"You thought wrong. I've already told you once, Arthur about misusing my resources. I see you've forgotten that particular lesson. Now, sit down please. I will deal with you later; there are slightly more important things at the moment to discuss than your listening comprehension."

Artie plops, rather unceremoniously, into his favorite armchair, quite intentionally ignoring Claudia's muttered, "snaap," coming from his right. They all sat around in the living room, the pair of women upstairs notwithstanding. And his Vanessa. Upstairs. With that woman. And while injured, she was still able to walk. He redoubled his grip on the arms of his chair and could feel the joints in his hands pop. The atmosphere was less than congenial.

They had been sequestered down here, theoretically for some sort of debriefing, but so far it had been nothing but tea, bad conversation, and Pete hijacking more of his cookies. There was a lunatic upstairs, and they were having tea. Great.

Mrs. Frederick perched herself in the rocker beside the empty fireplace, sliding back and making herself comfortable. Her purse sat primly on her knees. "Generally," she cleared her throat, letting the chair start to rock gently. She had always found rockers soothing, ever since she was a girl. Such a long time ago now. "Generally, I would not be divulging quite this volume of information. The actions of the Regents are not the concern of the agents unless there's an overriding need. I've decided, in this particular case, that there is such a need. Unfortunately, but the circumstances being what they are, there's little else to be done."

She waived her hand upward, indicating the bedrooms above. "Agent Wells has been released from detention. She will remain here, under Agent Bering's expert care until she is well enough to re-instated to full active status, assuming that is her wish, of course. She has my every confidence." Mrs. Frederick let that last statement hang for a moment. Claudia was practically dancing in her seat, fists pumping, but Pete and Artie were practically apoplectic. She put her hand up to stave off any protests coming. Given the shade of red covering Artie's face, there would be protests. Loud ones. "This is about more than just Yellowstone, Arthur. Though, we really should all be slightly ashamed of ourselves. There is a question I would like each of you to answer. What are the effects on the user of the Minoan Trident? We drill into every agent that every artifact has a downside, sometimes many, so, tell me, what is the downside to the Trident?"

"Other than the end of the world, you mean? That's not downside-y enough?!" Pete spit out. He could still smell the fear rolling of Kelly when they had neutralized the artifact, see the resignation when she told him goodbye. Anything else he may have added was cut short by the grim look Mrs. Frederick threw his way. You could hear his teeth clap together.

"Yes, Agent Lattimer, other than that. I admit, I didn't give it much thought either. Until recently, that is, when I was having tea with a Warehouse archivist who asked me that very question for his records. There were none listed, and he was curious if there were any special handling requirements. When I began to do some research, pulling information from the Regent's files as well as some independent sources, I discovered something rather disturbing."

She set her teacup down and leaned forward in her chair slightly. She had their attention. It was for a good reason; when Mrs. Frederick became disturbed, things tended to become unpleasant rather quickly.

"The Minoan Trident, unlike other artifacts, derives a certain amount of its power from the holder. You could say it's parasitic. But, unlike true parasites, the Trident creates its food in the holder to a degree. The Trident amplifies negative emotions. Rage, fear, pain, sorrow, guilt. All of them build and swell in the holder, increasing exponentially as there is more for the Trident to work with. The greater the energy created, the greater the energy of the Trident when used. The holder would eventually have little to no control over those emotions as they overwhelm him, or her in this case, until eventually the Trident's purpose would be carried out."

Claudia's eyes were large, her jaw hanging slightly open. Running her fingers through the pink stripe in her hair, she tried to make sense of it. "So, what you're saying, is that H.G. got whammied by the Trident, and that's why she went all Dr. Jekyll on us? She's not really a big baddie afterall?"

"H.G. wasn't holding onto anything when she blasted us. She was just standing there, all badass, before trying to turn Myka and me into KFC extra crispy. Next thing I know, Myka's swearing like a squid on liberty and I'm strapping dead kid feathers to my back trying to not be exploited to death. Lady Friggin' Cookoo up there was not whammied. If she touched the Trident after, then fine, she can have a get out of the nuthut free card for that, but not before."

"H.G. always wore gloves anyway. She wouldn't have risked handling the artifact without them; if the downside is that bad, it could have risked the whole plan on her part. If she were willing to wait a hundred years to blow us up, why would she risk anything going wrong? Grabbing the artifact in Egypt without protection could have set it off there, and there's no way using it down there would have done enough damage for her. Collapsed a chunk of Africa, sure, but not the world."

Mrs. Frederick just shook her head and eyebrow spiking and lips pursing. "I'm surprised at you, Arthur. You know your Warehouse history better than that. Have you any idea just how much contact agents used to have with artifacts? The ability to create effective barriers is a relatively new one, thanks to Mr. Einstein. The agents of Warehouse 12 routinely worked barehanded, a practice their Caretaker spent a great deal of time trying to correct. Why do you think agents had such short tenures? We had three turn into goats back in the eighteenth century before we subdued that particular artifact. When Agent Wells was initially interrogated, she informed us she had found the shard attached to her daughter's coffin while looking for Little John's staff. There had been a rash of donations to poor houses at the time that led them to a blacksmith, and in looking for the staff, she also came across the Trident fragment. They worked with barehanded, Arthur. Agent Wells, taking her statement to be true, and I do, was under the effects of the artifact from the moment she touched it."

There was silence. No gasps, no deep breaths, no breathing at all. The four people in the room just stared at her, varying degrees of shock and horror beginning to settle in as the implications hit home. It was easy to forget, with their gloves, neutralizing bags, Farnsworths, just what their job was. It was easy to forget that not all agents had the same luxuries as they searched, that there had been risks deemed unavoidable because, while it was the Warehouse, sometimes one was simply bound by the abilities of the time. There hadn't been an artifact to save her Simon in Flanders when he caught the flu that changed to pneumonia. The antibiotics twenty years later would have been helpful. Time was fickle that way. Pete dropped his mug of cocoa on the table, paying no attention when it sloshed over the rim, scalding his hand. "When did she find it? Back then, I mean."

"A little more than two months after the death of her daughter. It escalated quickly it seems, after that, not surprising given the emotional state she would have been in at the time. And then, her actions killed her partner—"

"And the 'oh so good and knowing' Regents allowed her to bronze herself, locking her in a century of world-ending crazy building fun times." Claudia just snorted, disgusted. H.G. was whammied, like super-whammied and nobody noticed. Nobody bothered to wonder what the hell had happened. Their agent, their friend goes from brillant if loveably off-center to Silence of the Lambs, and they just chalk it up to being a grieving woman. Idiots. She drew up short at that thought. So had she. She just accepted that the flash she saw while Myka was using the time machine, the muttering she heard while J.G. read technical manuals was just nothing more than loss. It was easy to. H.G. was a genius, and had made Myka laugh, and tucked Claudia in when she had a nightmare. She could still hear the song H.G. would sing, stroking her hair, soothing away the monsters. Even super-sized whammy, H.G. had cared in a way Claudia had lived without for years, and nobody bothered to try and figure out what the frak had happened. They all just let her go. Suddenly, she felt nauseous. She slapped her hand over her mouth and bolted.

Pete jumped out her his chair to follow, but was stopped by Mrs. Frederick's upturned hand and a small shake of the head. "Give her the moment, Agent Lattimer."

"Dear God." Artie's voice was rather breathless while he slumped back in his chair, his hand scraping down his face. The full impact of just what transpired began to settle in, coating his insides, mixing in with all the rage and distrust to the point that he just couldn't tell anymore what to think. No one had ever been under the thrall of an artifact for so long, no one.

"Quite." Mrs. Frederick took a sip of tea, wishing it were whisky instead. There was nothing like a solid shot to right any situation. The whole house seemed to sag under the information only to be jolted by a scream echoing though the halls, cutting off just as quickly as it came. It reminded Pete of the dog he'd seen get caught in a bear trap once. All the men stood, ready to run for the stairs, but they were again held back. There was nothing they could do, but make it worse. "Sit down, gentlemen. There is little you can do that Dr. Calder cannot, and a group of men busting into her bedroom is likely the last thing Agent Wells needs at the moment."

All three simply slumped back into their seats. It just didn't make any sense, none at all. Which meant, in the Warehouse, it made all the sense in the world. Pete reached back and rubbed at his neck, scratching along the hairline. He could feel electricity skitter up his spine; it was not a good vibe on this one. "But, if she spent a hundred years doubling down on the crazy, why was she all normal in the beginning?"

"That, I would surmise, was a combination of Agent Well's strength of character, Agent Bering, and the Trident's influence. She still had to find Warehouse 2 in order to reunite the artifacts. It really is remarkable that she held up as well as she did, but then again, Agent Bering can be most persuasive when she choses to be." Mrs. Fredrick's lip quirked just a touch. No one chose to comment.

"Once the Trident was neutralized, the energy effect was as well, and the hold over Agent Wells was broken. Unfortunately, it was too late. The act was done and she was utterly unaware of the Trident's effects to defend herself. She was, and in all likelihood still is, under the impression that it was all her doing. That will be a discussion for another day."

"Did the Regents know?" Pete was looking a touch ill.

"That I cannot answer. I do know they found out sometime after she was taken into custody initially. Likely, they had a researcher look into it as I had, but I have yet to narrow down the when. But, it has been some months now."

"Myka's gonna kill them." Pete said plainly, and it was a more accurate statement than any of them wanted to contemplate at the moment.

"And it will be for us to prevent her, Agent Lattimer. We owe Agents Bering and Wells that."

Artie's head ticked to the side, his eyebrow rising and he licked his suddenly dry lips. Something was off. Something was very off. "There's more, isn't there? What. Did they do? How do we get from 'H.G. isn't actually evil to—" He looked up and gestured, "to that?"

"Painfully, Arthur. Painfully. Agent Lattimer, now would be a good time to collect young Claudia."

* * *

Myka just held on while Vanessa had wrapped her right foot, the flexing of it into position mixed with the barest pressure in just the wrong spot widened the fracture of one of the bones. Helena had screamed, eyes wide, and had managed to tear a hole in her shirt from gripping the fabric so tightly. Myka could only hold on, whispering nonsense she didn't remember in the softest tones she had, peppering the woman with kisses. Helena's skin was clammy, pain breaking her out in a sweat, strands of hair plastering to her forehead. Vanessa's hands were steady, unfailing, but Myka could see the sheen over her eyes, could do nothing while she bit her lower lip to stop the trembling. Myka could only watch, and it sucked.

Despite the pain, Helena didn't flinch away. She kept her foot exactly where it was, allowed Vanessa to finish wrapping it, simply clinging all the more tightly to Myka. She frame was trembling and her breath rattled in her chest. Her eyes were slammed shut, face forehead to forehead and Myka rubbed their noses together gently, lips grazing. "It hurts. Hurts."

"I know, Helena, I know. You're almost done. You're doing so well, almost done." Myka burrowed her fingers into Helena's hair, scraping the spot just behind her ear she had discovered made Helena smile. There was almost a giggle last time. She let her thumb dance around the spot, pressing and dancing away, only to come back while nipping on Helena's lower lip. Helena's breath shuddered against her mouth, lips moving slightly in reaction. "Tell me a story. Make it stop."

Myka snuggled closer, fingers sliding from her hair down Helena's arm, stroking the soft skin up and down, following the veins she found there, circling. She watched, fascinated, as goose bumps followed in her wake. Myka looked down at Vanessa, looking to see if she was paying attention. She then decided she just didn't care. "When you feel better, I am going to take you on vacation. A real vacation." Her voice was butter soft, and she grinned softly. There's a cabin, not far from where I grew up in the middle of the forest. It sits on the top of a hill leading up to the Rockies. The air is fresh and smells of earth and pine. There are deer that like to graze in the meadow around the bend beside a little stream that actually gurgles. I'm going to take you there." Fingers slid down into the elbow, tickling the soft skin there and making their way south, tugging gently at the soft hairs on her forearms.

"The cabin has two stories, hand milled logs, and a set of fireplaces. A massive one in the living room, stone with a thick rug set down in front. There's a big four-poster bed in the bedroom, a smaller fireplace tucked away in the corner. It'll be covered in silk sheets, something soft to wrap you in." Fingers curled around a wrist, and Myka could feel the steady pound of Helena's heartbeat. It was fluttering rather wonderfully.

"I'm going to lay you out and take my time. I am going to take lifetimes and make you feel every ounce of happiness, every ounce of love, lust—" she tipped her head down, burrowing her face into the pillow between them, nuzzling the warm skin and sweet hair she found there. She was warm already, thrumming in all the best ways possible. She tried to reel herself in. "We can be together, just you and me and the deer. We can light a fire, open a bottle of wine, and I will read to you. And," she reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, rubbing her eyebrow on the way back down. "If you're good, it won't even be Jules Verne. Though, I cannot guarantee there won't be any Byron."

Helena was quiet, just looking at her. Her cheeks were flushed, a brilliant scarlet. Her pupils were dilated, taking in all of Myka, breaths still shallow but fuller than in longer than she cared to remember. Vanessa had let go, sometime around the second deer, and her feet had resolved to a dull ache. Her fingers danced up Myka's stomach, tracing the muscle below and coming to rest just under her breasts and clutched the fabric, letting her body heat warm her knuckles. She pulled herself closer, cuddling in. For a moment, Myka was afraid she had pressed too hard, gone too far too fast. "I like that story." Helena settled down and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost before she finished talking.

Vanessa was bundling her things up, flashing a stack of papers at Myka before placing it on the dresser. The door closed, they were alone. "It'll be a good memory." She could see it, two weeks, maybe three. Feeling her chest move while Helena breathed, the slight flutter of eyelashes, the very real warmth pressed firmly to her side, something just finally cracked. Myka held herself still, taking the deep breaths that would keep he frame loose, and let herself sink into the bed heavily. The remnants of warm sunlight danced along their feet, and some bird chirped in the window. In the end, even she would never have known she was crying if it weren't for the wet spot developing in Helena's hair. Myka never made a sound.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Here we are again. I'm glad that the Trident was something that people seemed to appreciate. I hadn't thought about it, ever, until I just did. It as a rather jarring thought when taken with the show. It was also handy in opening up possibilities for the characters later as well, so that was handy. Thanks again, everybody, for taking the time to read and review when the fancy strikes. I love reviews, I do, it's great to see what others think and hear how I could improve, but I love the read count more. I'm a horrible lurker; there are stories I literally read a dozen times over and just never take the time to write anything out, so I end up rather tickled by the read count, because it tells me people are enjoying it. Hopefully, even for just the ten minutes it takes to read the chapter, I made someone's day a little better. So, thanks for letting me do that.

* * *

It was regretfully similar to the crime-drama television program Claudia had forced her to watch. The table was steel, bolted to the floor, dull and dented rather ominously in places. There was a wall of one-way glass and a single bulb swung above her, casting a pale yellow light around her. Her wrists were beginning to itch inside the handcuffs, wrapped through the metal bar attached under the table. She would consider picking them, just to relieve the infernal itching, but they had bagged her hangs prior to cuffing her. Apparently, news of that particular talent had spread. Burlap had not improved in the past century.

It's not as if she expected any different, worse in fact. She was still breathing, and that was a definite improvement over what she had imagined. Though, every time her fingers twitched around the non-existent revolver, her wrists dipping under invisible weight and a pair of wild green eyes shocked her system, she almost wished she couldn't. No, she would be honest with herself, for once she would be honest. She would gladly fling herself into the beast's icy mouth if it would take that look from Myka's eyes. The air was dry and Helena sneezed, wrenching her elbow as her body jerked. A sharp pain jolted and lodged itself in the base of her skull.

It was the first real thing she had felt since being taken, being captured. Her head was full of wool, scratchy and muddled. All she knew was that she was alone, she had betrayed everything, betrayed Myka. There was a general numbness she couldn't shake, even as she tried. Helena was more than certain she deserved pain, not the solace of nothing. But, the human mind is a fragile thing, and, after a time, it will simply refuse. It will refuse to contemplate, refuse to process. It will refuse to accept even the most basic of inputs in favor of preservation. If it means survival, the sky will stop being blue, the square of two will cease to be four, and she could never have harmed Myka. She could see the Trident, smell the earth, hear the rumble of damnation, and she could see Myka lean into the barrel of her own gun. There was finally a flash of pain that stole her breath and singed her lungs.

Helena just stared at the door, heavy, re-enforced steel by the look of it, external hinges, electronic keypad entry and exit. It was a proper gate for a monster. She sat, still and silent, and waited. She had nothing to do, time no longer mattered. Helena restrained a laugh at that. If anything in her life had proved meaningless, it was time. She closed her eyes for just a moment and could see a head full of curls peaking around her door, glasses slipping down a slender nose, a bundle of restrained excitement and nervous uncertainty, one of her books clasped against a pair of wonderfully proportioned breasts. Eyes snapped back open as the door swept open. The faint smell of lavender still teased her memory. Time hadn't been meaningless after all. Time was everything.

Mr. Kosan sat across from her, eyes pinched around the edges. He was going to end up with early crows feet. The light from the pathetic bulb above reflected off his polished head, creating a glare almost brighter than the light itself. His suit was well made, Italian by the cut, and he smelled of sandalwood. There was none of the warmth from their last meeting, unsurprisingly. He was observing her, waiting her out, or for some signal Helena could barely begin to guess at. She was heavy, dull, the fire of rage, indignation, pain that had fueled her was gone. There was only the dull throb of remorse, guilt, heavily coated in disbelief, and he would know it. He but only had to look. She looked the man in the eye; she would take whatever they gave her gladly, she was guilty, but it was another pair of eyes for whom she would serve the sentence. This man was not the one she had wronged.

"We seem to be in a bit of a situation, Ms. Wells. What are we to do with you? Tell me, because nothing the Regents have tried has worked. They excused your behavior, overlooked it, allowed you to be bronzed, re-instated you on the word of another agent, and none of it was effective. We forgave your transgressions and you spat in our faces. So, tell me, Ms. Wells, what would be an appropriate punishment? Do we lock you in a box for the rest of your life, kill you, use you at the research facility?" His voice was oily, slick, slipping in her ears and seeping into her pores. She skin crawled.

"You're a useful asset to the Warehouse, Ms. Wells. Clever, cunning, brilliant, resourceful. You are everything a good agent should be. But, you've not been a good agent. You've lied, cheated, created chaos, and attempted to murder everyone, including those that depending on you for their own safety and friendship. You tried to kill Agent Bering, the one woman who believed in you." Kosan watched with satisfaction as a flit of pure agony slid across her face before she got herself back under control. He leaned back in his chair slightly, letting his hands lay flat against the cool metal. She may have controlled her features, but her shoulders remained slumped, curled in, her body following them into the slightest of hunches. This would almost be fun.

"I—I cannot ask for mercy, and I do not expect such, Mr. Kosan. If I could go back and stop myself, I would." Her lip quirked and she let out a mirthless snort. "However, if I have learned anything in my experiences, it is that one cannot alter the past. To say I am sorry is insufficient, inadequate. They are, however, the only words I have, and they are meant in ways language fails to express. Is Art—Agent Nielson healing well?"

"He will live, Ms. Wells. Lucky for you. And you are correct; your apologies are inadequate. That you are remorseful is clear, Ms. Wells. You've been under constant surveillance since you arrived, and you have an unfortunate habit of talking in your sleep. And for that reason, in conjunction with your _special_ talents, lends itself to a unique proposition." He pressed his fingers together, tapping, staring at her from over their tips, gaze piercing, and a sense of dread washed over her. "If you could have anything, Ms. Wells, anything at all, what would it be?"

"Redemption." No hesitation. She would be redeemed and welcomed back into the warmth she so foolishly abandoned. The door opened again and a guard entered, unremarkable in every way but for his sheer size, came to a stop somewhere behind her. He needed a shower, but then again, so did she.

"That, Ms. Wells, is one thing you can have. With time. You will earn our forgiveness. You will redeem yourself. And, when the other Regents and I are satisfied that you have done so, you will be returned to the Warehouse and re-instated. You may return to doing what you do best, with our blessing." He waited just a moment, letting the silence work its way into her system. "You may return to Agent Bering, make amends. That is what you truly want, isn't it? Her forgiveness. Redemption in her eyes. You've been calling for her every time you fall asleep. You could try to earn her forgiveness, earn back her friendship."

Buzzing filled Helena's ears, and her mouth ran dry, tasting of rancid socks. Myka. Moments flashed through her mind, and her chest heaved as she tried to draw breath. Myka.

"What must I do?" The handcuffs rattled and she practically vibrated in her chair, and she failed to notice as the cuffs cut into her wrists. She didn't notice as the blood trickled down to her fingertips, making them twitch.

"You will be purified, cleansed. You need no other information. There is no negotiation. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She was practically vibrating with possibility. She would be better, saner, worthy. She would matter to Myka again if it killed her; she would do her daughter proud. "I only want to return home."

Kosan laughed. There was no kindness there. "And you will. But first, there is much to atone for. And, it begins now." Without another word, the guard stepped forward and slammed a leather sap across the back of her skull. She fell forward instantly, unconscious, a new dent found its way into the tabletop. "Take her to cell 16B. I want her on rotating schedule Alpha. You can remove the cuffs once she's in." The silent man simply nodded and undid the cuffs from the table, picking up Helena as if she were little more than a ragdoll and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her out of the room. They all ignored the smear of blood left in the new dent. Kosan reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a cellphone, the door barely missing Helena's head as it shut.

Twists and turns later there were no more sounds. There was no hum of a generator, no buzz from the overhead lights, only breathing. Recessed lighting along the walls provided a faint glow to light the way, the smell of burning wax and wick filling the air, and, with a tug on the cell door and a heave, Helena flew through the air to land on a stack of straw in a crumpled heap. Had anyone cared to notice, they would have heard a quiet crack on impact and an involuntary shudder. The door slammed shut behind her, and then there was nothing.

* * *

"After I discovered the information about the Trident, I decided I needed to gather more data, quietly. Something was off, out of balance, but I couldn't figure out just what. Like the with the Warehouse, there is a feeling within the Regents. It's a sort of underlying presence made up of that thing which makes us human. You may call it a soul, essence, electrical impulse, but it has a texture, a mass to it. And, there were rough spots when I stopped to truly probe that texture. Mr. Kosan was refusing to disclose any information related to Ms. Wells, to the other Regents or myself, and my usual channels were proving fruitless. This was unusual for several reasons, the most troubling being Mr. Kosan's position itself. He is there to decide, that's true, but he cannot act alone; he must seek counsel or face removal. The Warehouse does not tolerate despots. That he would take what was considered the greatest threat to mankind in centuries and hide it away it as close to scandalous as the Regents get. There were mutterings, openly. The only information given was that she would likely return to the Warehouse, but only after she had been cleansed. However, he failed to explain just what that would entail, and it was the only description given." Mrs. Frederick pressed her fingers into the knot developing at the base of her neck. The last 'cleansing' discussed in the Regent's files involved the rack, an unfortunate agent found dabbling in an odd form of artifact worship, and six months of leave for everyone involved. Agent Hoffsteadter had not survived. His partner was never the same. Fools, all of them. Irene left that out.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Kosan had his own network of informants throughout the Regents, and beyond, so I had to tread softly, slowly, to avoid arousing suspicion. Even I wouldn't be able to overtake Mr. Kosan on my own if he was acting inappropriately, and it could have greatly endangered Ms. Wells." She reached into her purse, flicking the snap with a twitch of her fingers and handed Claudia her handkerchief. The girl barely seemed to register taking it, scrubbing at her eyes fitfully before starting to wring it between her hands. It was a mangled mess in under a minute.

"There started to be —whispers coming from the facility near Sioux Falls. It's a bunker of sorts, used, theoretically, as a fall back shelter for agents and Regents. Most of it is below ground, so, in the event of nuclear fallout, man-made or artifact, there would be protection, and the system would hold. It would seem, over time however, it has slowly been morphing into a sort of detention facility as well. My driver was running an errand for me the first time he heard a couple of guards talking in Chicago at the field office there. Apparently, they kept talking about the prisoner on B-Wing. They had put the prisoner through a 'twelve-hour' and hadn't been able to walk back to her cell. The guards were taking bets on how long the prisoner would last. Mr. Daniels had the good sense to ante up, and a fresh flow of information fell in my lap. At the time, I did not understand the references; it took several conversations with certain individuals before the full implications made themselves known."

Mrs. Frederick held up her hand, cutting off the interruption she saw coming. None of them were in any state to indulge twenty questions. There would be no need by the end. Claudia looked put out, sliding back into her chair, further fussing with the handkerchief, but Pete was ghost white. Sweat broke out on his body, and he fought back a gag. He remembered the stories from basic training of men caught.

"From what I gathered, they presented her with an option of sorts. She could attempt rehabilitation, and the alternative was likely death. Only, I'm not certain she was aware there was a choice to be had, nor what her options would have been even if she had. In any event, she agreed readily, without much or any question on her part. It turns out they were rather quick to invoke Agent Bering in their dealings. Mr. Kosan was quite aware of just what sort of power she has over Ms. Wells, and the opportunity to return here, to see Myka again, was more than enough incentive. They knocked her unconscious prior to moving her to her cell."

Mrs. Frederick's nose twitched as Claudia sniffled, and her heart went out to the young woman. Helena was as close to a mother as the girl had had in years, even in such a short time. Pete didn't seem to be doing much better. His eyes were glazing slightly, fingers twitching around an invisible need. He was tense, coiled. She could still smell her coat burning and feel the scalding water of her shower afterward.

"They had transformed sections of the facility over the years. Where once everything was clean, even sterile, the wing where Helena was kept was intentional altered to resemble the dungeons she would have been more familiar with. Rough stone, almost non-existent lights, filth. She was thrown in a cell with an oak door, solid and banded, no windows, and a bucket. It was three days before anyone made further contact with her. No food, no water, no light. She made a deal with the devil, and, for once, Ms. Wells blinked. Better said, the devil blinded her. They waited for her to wake up on her own."

* * *

Myka smiled softly as Helena sighed, stretched, and burrowed further into her arms, trying to push off consciousness as best she could. Whatever Vanessa had given her for the pain made Helena practically boneless. Her breath tickled Myka's neck, and made her duck her head to relieve the sudden itch. Myka let her hand tip along the edge of the sheets, pulling them down slightly, resting low on their hips, relishing the feel of cool air across her skin. Fingers navigated the patchwork of gauze, stroking the available skin and nuzzled her hairline. Up and down, vertebrae by vertebrae, scars, moles, and the faint stretch marks that spoke of love and loss. Helena was due for another hair wash. Myka's face was beginning to itch where the tears had dried overnight, but she saw no reason to hide them, to risk waking the woman in her arms just to scrub away evidence she was unashamed of. Helena shifted again, pulling herself closer to the warmth, to her light and let her fingers bunch in a familiar set of curls. It was dark, inside and out, stars teasing them with light, always winning the game of hide and seek. All but Orion. He was there as ever, bright and steady.

Myka watched as her eyes fluttered open and took her in, tracing over her face. The eyes paused, pupils contracted, and a single finger reached up from between them to rest on Myka's cheek. Slowly, painfully so, the finger followed the trail, chipping away at the salt crystals clinging to her skin, rubbing the freckles she found along the way. Her breaths were deep, even. Myka could feel it; she could feel the heat coming from her, her heart thumping through the tip of the finger. Helena was alive, and she was in her arms, looking at her as if, as if she were everything.

"Hi." Helena leaned down, lips grazing a cheek.

"Hello." Her head falls back into the crook of Myka's shoulder. She felt so heavy. Everything just took so much energy. She was home. She curled her legs through Myka's, careful to avoid jarring her feet, wrapped and hot as they were. They still throbbed, but it was easily ignored for the first time in so long. She sat, relishing the soft skin, soft fingers. She could hear shuffling through the door. "It was worth it." Helena's voice is soft, almost as if she didn't want Myka to hear, but hear she did.

Myka rolled to her side, ducking her head to press their foreheads together. It was quickly becoming a touch point for them both, a soothing reminder. "What was?" Helena just continued to scrape away at the tears.

"Everything."

"Why?"

"I'm with you again."


End file.
